Trampled Rose
by Shangri-La
Summary: Just based on the characters that cause Aya and Yoji to fight Ken and Omi with the intent to kill them in the OVA -- *SPOILERS*
1. The Color of His Eyes

This WAS my first fanfic, and no one reviewed until recently, so I just now bothered to edit it. Hopefully, people will feel more inclined to review now...  
  
~~~~~  
  
He was a tall, striking figure, first seen astride a motorcycle and later within the confines of a hospital, visiting his little sister in a manner not unlike Aya's. Black, body armor molded comfortably to lean muscles and long limbs, always so casual and confident, hair bleached white standing in gelled spikes and eyes.eyes rather like a rose's color, he thought, or at least a late rose. Surreal and loving, not really scarlet, but perhaps a dropping petal of the said flower, no longer in its prime, but still beautifully reddish-brown. Dark. Fair skin made him seem ghostly in the shadows; a crooked grin looked jeering every time it revealed itself to the assassin. His name was Akira - and he was pointing a gun at Ken.  
  
Ken didn't quite know what to think of the current events, eyes wide and breath accelerated, panic pressing in on him as Omi twisted his fists tighter in the back of his shirt, fearful and unbelieving. They weren't enemies...right? After all, he had just faced down Yoji and his razor wire in Akira and Kaori's defense, and his hands - cut and dripping blood from being twisted in the merciless grasp of the sharp string - could attest to it. That in itself was a sacrifice, a betrayal to both Yoji and Aya, to his dedication as part of Weiss. It was a stupid, stupid thing to do. They had been ordered to kill Akira, a rebel police officer who had stolen weapons, but.  
  
Kaori clung to her older brother's arm, pleading sharply. The barrel of the weapon had only been fastened in the direction of Ken's head for a few seconds, and now, he chuckled and let his arm drop, murmuring a vague apology, an allusion that he had been joking in that playful voice of his.  
  
"You scared me," she breathed on a sigh, letting her head drop to his chest in exhaustion. She had just been released from the hospital - or rather she had escaped. A hacker that had gleaned some substantially important information from an American base in what she had thought to be a 'game', she was the last of the four high-school students who had known what she now secretly carried. A burden that had almost finished her off just as it had her three friends.  
  
Omi moved beside Ken in a jaunty little step, not yet releasing his sleeve. His boyish face broke into a grin, honey blonde hair falling every-which way across his face. "I was worried for a moment, Ken-kun," he declared in a relieved voice, husky and young and sweet.  
  
Ken merely nodded, watching as Akira slung an arm across Kaori's slender shoulders. "Ok, ok. I'm sorry."  
  
Brown eyes flickered as Ken's tan face lowered suspiciously, his thick, chocolate-colored bangs overshadowing the orbs briefly as they turned away in regret. ...what had he done?!  
  
~~~~~  
  
Akira's eyes, gleaming, red-mahogany, gazed listlessly out the ajar door of the small shack they had spent the night in, drifting from the carousel horses to the cotton candy stands, and all around the abandoned fair and finally coming to a stop at the two young men standing quietly outside.  
  
Kaori, a blanket drawn up to her chin and her back to the wall, shifted against him in her sleep.  
  
He didn't feel right about Ken or Omi. How trustworthy could two assassins be? He frowned. Especially when their teammates were out to get him. And who knows who else was looking for Kaori. He sighed. They sure had a lot of government problems.  
  
He saw Omi grabbing Ken by the shoulders and propelling him forward with encouraging words, and although the taller man's boots skidded in the snow, protesting, he finally started to walk on his own and Omi trailed along behind.  
  
White eyebrows drew together in surprise. Where were they going.? Akira had the distinct feeling he didn't really have to guess.  
  
~~~~  
  
Ken and Omi weren't coming back. That much was apparent after a few hours and a squad of surrounding American soldiers later. The shack wasn't holding up so well, glass shattered and nearby carousel horses bitten through with bullets.  
  
Blood oozed from an angry gash in Akira's forehead, his gloved hands trembling as he loaded his gun. Only three shells, which wasn't near enough to save him or Kaori, unless...  
  
~~~~  
  
Kaori, huddled in a trembling heap beneath her blanket on the floor, listened to the words that left Akira's lips, but didn't really hear them. It was too impossible. How could he do something so.....so...foolish?!  
  
"Don't worry. You're brother's going to get you out of here. Just wait until it's safe."  
  
She wanted to reach out and catch him, stop him from slipping through her fingers, but he was standing, as if in slow motion, and readying to leave. The words she wanted to cry out would not leave her throat, and she knew...she just knew it then...that she was going to lose him.  
  
Akira was reckless as he burst through the door of the shack, running as if believed himself to be an unstoppable force straight into the midst of the enemy and not stopping even as he felt bullets tearing through his skin and ripping apart his body. Still, he barreled on, face contorted in hate and anger, in pain, and he thought fleetingly of Kaori, back behind him, but he didn't really have time. His screams drowned out by the gunfire, he fell, no longer that formidable man, and he hit the ground - heavy - scarlet seeping into the pristine snow all around him.  
  
Kaori watched through the window, tears streaming down her cheeks, and finally, she forced out those words she had not been able to say before. "Brother...don't leave...!"  
  
~~~~  
  
Ken bit his lower lip in distress as he trudged back to the carnival, his feet dragging heavily. Aya and Yoji had orders to...to kill him, as well as Omi. And Yoji was VERY upset. 'We're friends, aren't we?' Omi had said before when they had headed off to apologize, and Ken had shook his head at the thought, admitting silently he had never thought of it that way. Judging from the manner that Yoji had told them he intended to carry out the mission, he was more right than Omi.  
  
A sheep that tastes blood becomes a wolf.  
  
Yoji had said something like that, although Ken was a little foggy on the exact wording, when he had fought with the man beneath the hospital, trying to buy time for Kaori, Omi, and Akira to escape. The words had come back when they saw him at the flower shop. Aya had been absent at that time, and good thing too, because if he had been present, a fight would've broken out for sure. But it had only been Yoji, and the young man was pretty calm about the whole ordeal - until Omi pushed a bit too far and his temper exploded, causing him to yell in their faces. The time would come, he had basically said, when they would fight to the death, but he would not do so alone. He would wait for Aya, and they had better leave.  
  
Omi looked up from drawing the toe of his boot in some slush and frowned deeply, spotting first the ruined carousal horses, eaten away by bullets, and then the broken window, and then the prone form in the snow. With a sharp gasp, he jerked to a stop, and Ken could almost see the world spinning around the boy, crashing down upon him and sucking the breath from his lungs. Our punishment shouldn't have to be fighting our friends, he had insisted before, but the youngest member of Weiss had forgotten all about that now.  
  
Ken followed him in what felt like a very slow run, considering the atmosphere seemed to have thickened. While Omi ran on ahead to the shack he drew to a stop a long time before and chose to approach much more slowly, drawing in long, steadying breaths in horror.  
  
Inside the shattered shelter, Omi, who had been moving in such a flurry of activity, seemed to freeze in time when his feet hit the floor. In the center of the room sat Kaori's laptop, and playing across the screen were the frequency waves of a recording, spiking each time there was a catch in her voice and it cracked in desperation. Trembling, the pitiful pleas played over and over again. "Help me...Omi-kun... Help me...Omi-kun... Help me.Omi- kun."  
  
Outside, Ken looked over Akira, his body stretched out across the snow on his back, black clothing torn at the chest and revealing his fatal wounds. Still, his mouth gaped; his pale skin was blotched with deeply contrasting crimson blood. His eyes were still open, staring lifelessly at the sky with a terrified, wild expression still frozen in their glassy depths. Dark pools of ruby, like the late rose. Destroyed. Crushed as if ground into the snow by the heel of a careless boot... A trampled rose...?  
  
Omi was suddenly in the doorway of the shack, hands gripping the frame tightly. His chest heaved and arms dropped to his sides, raising rapidly once more to gesture with wildly as he exclaimed breathlessly, "They have Kaori! We have to rescue her!"  
  
But Ken wasn't looking at Omi. Anxiously, turned to halfheartedly face the horizon, he peered into the night-shadowed, snow-covered distance and at the two approaching figures, lean in frame and steady in their course. Both wore flowing trench coats, one in white to match his ivory skin but clash sharply with his flaming hair and amethyst eyes, and the other in a darker color, his golden hair falling to barely brush his broad shoulders in gently rolling waves, emerald eyes hidden beneath dark shades. Aya and Yoji.  
  
Omi's jaw hung open, head slowly wagging back and forth as he shook it in disbelief. From where he stood some yards behind Ken and on a slightly raised platform, he cried out, "No! We have to rescue Kaori!" His hands clenched into fists when he saw that neither Aya nor Yoji deterred their path, or their objective. At that place and time, his blue eyes saddened, looking about to shed the tears he had been holding back.  
  
Like two phantoms the elder assassins moved closer in eerie silence, grim faces set as if in stone. A night for their backdrop, a frosty, snow- covered plain for their fighting field, the confrontation was about to begin. A team divided would see who the strongest member truly was. Who had the most brute strength? The most skill and will? Katana against crossbow against razor wire against bugnuks. They'd find out soon enough.  
  
After such a duration of partnership and teamwork, the time of truth had finally come.  
  
~~~~~  
  
Ok, most people don't get this fic cuz it's based on the OVA, which a lot of people haven't seen (I guess). I didn't make Akira up or anything - he's my fave character, in fact. Well, in the OVA, anywayz. As for the stuff I wrote here, this is my portrayal of some of my fave scenes from the OVA...a lot of people think I made this up. And I didn't. But, since someone asked what happened next, I thought, 'Hey, I didn't even like the ending to the OVA! I'll just make up my own ending!' And I did. So read it. Cuz it's sad.  
  
Onto the next chapter! 


	2. How the Rose Blooms

Like I said in the last chapter, this isn't how the OVA ends, but since I didn't like the real ending, I made my own one up. I mean, there is something so not satisfying about thinking they're all dead and then realizing they were all faking it so they can rescue Kaori and be happy and have Omi or Ken or someone say at the end, "Oh, how ironic it is that this flower means happy ending or whatever and we'll never have our happy ending!" That's not the exact wording, but it's my interpretation, since I don't feel like dragging out my DVD player at 6 A.M. Well, read and enjoy!  
  
I write to please...*snicker* ^_^  
  
And for reviews!  
  
~~~~~  
  
Ken had seen it all. He had watched with breath dragging raggedly from his parched throat in terrified, pained gasps as the razor wire jerked Omi's body sharply from the platform and to the wall of the shack, suspending him there. He had witnessed the boy struggling for his darts and crossbow, only to succumb to death's grip as Aya finished him off.  
  
No, no, no, no, no, no....  
  
Ken's head shook in wild disbelief.  
  
How could Aya, the man who worked beside the seventeen-year-old in the flower shop, who gave him instructions inside missions and every day life, who was supposed to have their backs covered - how could this man be thrusting the katana through the helpless boy currently caught in a web of thin, steel cord?  
  
Omi screamed in horrible agony, his cry almost animalistic. It echoed in Ken's ears over and over until it finally died along with him.  
  
Finished with the disposing of the youngest assassin, Aya and Yohji both turned to face Ken, emotionless. The stoic redhead's face was cold and impassive, pale, creamy skin flecked with bits of blood and a slash of scarlet across his right cheek. His violet eyes were glazed, almost, dead like a doll's. He obviously felt nothing.  
  
Ken took a step back, teeth gritted in anxiety. What now? His only ally in the world was dead, pinned against a battered wall with a gaping sword wound in his torso. Sore, bruised digits, still cramped from gripping Yohji's razor wire in self defense earlier, clenched around his bugnuks, nearly all the claws shattered from a bout with Aya's katana. But one had survived, curved and sharp and jutting out amongst all the stubs of broken steel. The brunette drew himself into a defensive pose, and narrowed his eyes, fists made before him. He would fight to the death.  
  
Aya came at him first, swift and light-footed, mastering that grace that only he could. He gave a fierce war cry, and with a swift spring of one ankle, he was in the air just before Ken, slashing away for all he was worth. But he never had a chance.  
  
Ken had been watching with the crafty eyes of a killer now, no longer bothered with notions of loyalty or past friendship. Those ideas had been conceived by Omi and had died with him too. When he saw that familiar move of Aya's, the one he had seen the other man perform countless time, he was given a burst of strength and hope, ducking beneath the descending blade with such agile skill that for a moment, he was more lithe than even Aya could ever hope to be. Using that one good claw, he punched up into Aya's unguarded stomach, puncturing the skin and ripping through the muscle and flesh. When he withdrew, his leaving was accompanied by a shower of blood, which sprayed upon his face and clothes, splattered heavily across his wide eyes and made him loathe the warm, life-giving fluid.  
  
Aya fell back into the snow, as if in slow motion, making such a graceful descent he seemed to be floating. The snow danced around him, a falling angel against a backdrop of purity. When he landed, lying stretched out on his back, he still clutched his katana, not uttering a noise, only staring, staring up at Ken with a sense of...astonishment.  
  
Yohji was shocked as well. It delayed his reaction as Ken turned to face him, the last thing that stood between him and freedom. The wire lashed out in an angry coil, but Ken was still on his blood-high, dodging it with such expertise he made it seem like child's play. Before his former teammate could even react, he was within range, and, regretfully, almost, he slashed cruelly into the blonde. It only made him stumble back a little, and even as he was preparing to shoot out the wire in defense, Ken made his final move, punching into his stomach with the badly damaged bugnuks.  
  
For a moment, his victim's back arched, and Yohji's head jerked back. His dusky-blonde hair was gently concealing his face in rippling waves, the dark shades perched low on the bridge of his nose to reveal those glittering, emerald orbs women found so enticing. He froze stiffly in that position. "Ah..." he rasped brokenly, smiling in bittersweet resignation. "Doesn't matter... Living like this wouldn't of been worth it anyway..." And then he crumpled into the downy snow, lying in a pool of his own blood.  
  
Ken drew back, huffing and puffing, glaring down at his work. Ever so slowly, his eyes began to soften, to grow moist, and he shifted his gaze to Omi, who, much to his shock, was moving...  
  
"Why...? Friends shouldn't have to fight... Is this...our punishment?" The boy was trembling in his bonds, achingly lifting his arm to point the crossbow into the distance, big, blue eyes brimming with unshed tears. And then, his head dropped again and he fell limp, the life finally leaving his quaking body.  
  
Ken merely stood with mouth gaping. He turned away from the destruction of his young friend, looking at his enemies - no, his teammates - and seeing that just now Aya's clouded eyes were drifting shut. Whatever thoughts were scuttling across that slowly dying mind of his must've been depressing, thought Ken, and the position he was in, clutching at his beloved sword, lying stretched out in the snow and spotted with blood, it was reminding of Akira...  
  
Suddenly, the world was spinning, Ken's feeble grasp on sanity slipping away by the second. He dropped to his knees, memories and images of the dead surrounding him flashing through his mind, and let out a long, ear- shattering scream of despair.  
  
~~~~~  
  
Three years later, Ken was released from his torture. Relief visibly spread across his face as Manx handed him the official papers and told him where to sign and what to expect. Freedom.  
  
He handed her back the folder and looked for perhaps the last time upon the pretty woman, her auburn curls spiraling down onto her slender shoulders and cocky, self-assured smile making her seem no different from any other day. But today was very different. He was no longer an assassin.  
  
Sure, they had tried to give him new teammates, but it just hadn't been the same. A number of them were very dull and most had been too high-strung, panicking under the stress of the mission. Once, there had been a boy around Omi's age, and he had been the heart-wrenching image of the former assassin. Ken had grown to like him very quickly, and although he seemed like he was going to make it, remaining calm and collected after the first two killings, he disappeared shortly one night and was found the next morning by none other than Ken, strangled to death in a nearby alley. The murderer had never been found.  
  
When it boiled down to it, Weiss had been perfect the way it had been, and no one could ever recreate that. No one had Aya's gloomy grace that ensured perfect order, Yohji's flirtatious agility that kept things light and provided distractions, and especially Omi's encouraging cheerfulness, which always kept the team's spirits up.  
  
"So, this is it, huh?" asked Manx as she tucked the papers of release underneath her arm. "You're sure you want to do this?"  
  
Ken made a little 'pshaw' noise and tossed his head mock-rebelliously. "Are you kidding? I've got a job as a gym teacher and soccer coach at an elementary school lined up. This is my chance for a normal life."  
  
She sighed. "We'll miss you, Ken. Siberian."  
  
Ken only smirked as he watched her leave, high heels clicking sharply on the pavement as she disappeared around the corner. It was pretty lonely just standing there, leaning against the trailer that he and Aya and Yohji and Omi had once sold flowers from after leaving the shop. He crossed his arms.  
  
Too many memories.  
  
Any moment now, Yohji should come ambling down the road with a brown paper bag of beer in his arm and a cigarette in hand. Omi should be at his heels, talking excitedly about his day at school, and Aya, of course, should be either counting the money in the register or watering the plants. Ken, himself, would put himself to use warding off rabid fan girls.  
  
Those girls were now wondering where all their favorite bishies had gone. Already, Aya, Yohji, and Omi were beginning to fade from their memories.  
  
It had been so long. Why couldn't he forget them all as well?  
  
Taking off his jacket and tying it around his waist, Ken started off at a brisk jog. He just didn't get the same exhilarating thrill he used to when the wind streamed through his short, shaggy, brown hair.  
  
Past a few stores, a cluster of houses, and towards a small church, there was a graveyard, and as he entered into it, he slowed down, bent over with his hands on his knees, and breathed in deeply, trying to return his rapidly beating heart to its normal rate. After gulping down air a few moments to feed his greedy lungs, he straightened and threaded his way through the headstones.  
  
A girl was the only other person besides him visiting today, and something about her struck him as oddly familiar. She was standing near Aya's grave, head bent in avid thought. Light brown hair was shadowing her closed eyes at the moment, brushing against her shoulder blades, and she hugged her thin arms to her fragile body.  
  
"Kaori?" Ken asked in awe, brown eyes widening in unimaginable shock. He had never even fathomed seeing this girl, Akira's younger sister, Omi's friend, ever again. After he had slain Aya and Yohji, he had carried out Omi's last wish and rescued the girl. Immediately afterwards, she had been returned to the hospital to recover in safety, and Ken had been instructed to never see her again.  
  
"Ken-kun?" Her innocent, hazel eyes blinked in amazement. "Ah! I thought I'd never see you again!"  
  
He reached out his arms to intercept her as she launched herself into a frantic hug, squeezing him tightly to her whilst her body quaked uncontrollably. "Hello, Kaori," he said softly.  
  
Tears were flowing down her pale cheeks now, and she choked back a sob. "Ken-kun..."  
  
For a long time, they stood together like that, until she gently pulled away and turned back to the graves. "I came...to see Akira," she murmured. "And...I found Omi's on accident. You never told me he died back then... I spent so much time looking for him."  
  
Ken rubbed the back of his neck, looking so much older, so much more tired. With a sigh, he murmured, "I wasn't allowed to speak to you about what had happened. I'm still not. Sorry." It was a lame apology, but the way he shrugged his shoulders and frowned explained just how deep the thorn was embedded in his heart. "I really miss him though. Aya and Yohji too."  
  
Kaori smiled reminiscently. "Remember how my friends used to drag me out to the shop just to see Yohji?"  
  
"Mm hmm." Ken grinned at the memory of Kaori's sixteen-year-old friend, another hacker, jumping up and down excitedly, fists pumping in the air as she squealed, 'Only two more years! Only two more years!'. Yohji's face had been equally amusing when he heard this, his casual expression falling into one of grim shock. Yes, only two more years and this girl would've probably dated Yohji. Had they both not died.  
  
Kaori was now staring at the graves again. From left to right, the three simple milky marble headstones simply read, Yohji, Aya, and Omi. "No last names," she observed in a musing tone.  
  
"They didn't think them necessary."  
  
Kaori sensed by the tone of his voice that to ask who 'they' were would not receive an answer. She only turned back to the simple graves. Planted before each was a simple rose, the color differing for each assassin. She could probably guess the reasoning behind all three. Yohji's was full and blood red due to his main fascination in romance and his excessive love interest in life itself. Aya's white flower was simple, blooming delicately so that its soft, velvety petals seemed strong, yet fragile. Last of all, Omi's was brilliant, reaching out to everyone who passed by, it seemed. With outspread, sunshine-yellow foliage, it was friendly and cheerful - just like he had been.  
  
"Roses," she observed with a sigh. "Akira loved roses. They always reminded me of - "  
  
"The color of his eyes," supplied Ken, equally nostalgic by now. "When I first saw him, I thought that. And when he died...it's funny, cuz...the first thought that came to mind was 'trampled rose'. Now I see the roses at these graves and I think that it's really ironic. In death, they bloomed. In life...they were nothing but trampled. Trampled roses..."  
  
Kaori's tongue slid over her dry lips thoughtfully, wetting them.  
  
Ken chuckled at the poetic words leaving his own mouth. He normally wasn't this fluent with his speech. "I still am one of those, I guess. A trampled rose, I mean."  
  
"I feel the same, Ken."  
  
"Do you really?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Well, you know what I've learned from working in the flower shop? Being a crushed rose might be unbearable at first, but the more you look at it, the more beautiful it becomes. And it smells better too."  
  
"So...what you're saying is, life will get better once we get used to it? Oh, and we'll smell sweeter than before too."  
  
"Something like that."  
  
"I really don't get it."  
  
"Ah.me neither. But don't worry. We have time, right? Now that I'm all freed up, we can figure it out together. Kaori, you are my first official friend in years." And he stuck his hand out to shake hers, much to her surprise.  
  
Slowly, almost hesitantly, she placed her small hand inside his palm, clasping it. "Ken, you're so weird..." But the quirky smile she gave him said that she didn't mind in the least.  
  
They looked upon the graves once more, longingly, and then encouraged one another with forced smiles. Ken jerked his head sharply to his left, and she nodded, signaling she wanted to leave as well. In silence, they traveled from the graveyard, the sun glaring brightly in the eyes, wind toying with their hair, and somehow, things seemed better. Those three roses having bloomed and adapted so well meant something, and as long as they kept up their happy existence, Ken would try to find his.  
  
Yes, things were better.  
  
~~~~~  
  
*Shangri-La is holding a sign that reads 'WILL WRITE FOR REVIEWS'* Hey guys, that's my attempt at being angsty! It's so hard for me to write angst in my fanfics! Some of you probably know the feeling  
  
....  
  
PLEASE TELL ME YOU KNOW THE FEELING!!!!!  
  
Anywho, I pry should stop ranting now and it's beginning to cross my mind that most of you guys aren't even reading this anymore, so I'll quit wasting my time and yours.  
  
Oh, and this is the end of the story...I think  
  
DUM DUM DUM... 


End file.
